


Terror Within

by koalaboy



Category: Batman - All Media Types, The Demon (DCU Comics)
Genre: F/M, This is really a gift I don’t recommend reading it lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 05:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21489121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalaboy/pseuds/koalaboy
Summary: Jamie be collecting husbands named Jonathan C huh
Kudos: 2





	Terror Within

The basement was dark and stuffy. The light flickered on and off precisely on a timer. The air circulated at a constant temperature that was always slightly too hot to be comfortable. Hidden behind the chair were speakers that played a set amount of sounds on loop. Things like ‘water drip’, ‘spooky wood creak’ and ‘mice noises’ were common on the playlist. In the middle of the room was a chair into which restraints had been drilled. A two-way mirror disguised as an old painting made the entire room easy to observe. All variables were controlled. Jonathan sat in his laboratory, a small room behind the two-way mirror, and hummed softly to himself as he prepared a syringe and tourniquet. He was in disturbingly bright spirits if one took into account the amount of medical equipment that surrounded him. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he sterilised the tip of the needle and then placed it in it’s equally sterile travel case - ready for the next subject.

“I can almost  _ hear _ you making googly eyes at me, darlin’,” Jon called, raising his head from his work for a moment to cast a glance towards the staircase.

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” Jamie admitted, shuffling into his office like a kid caught spying.

“It ain’t disturbance if it’s from you,” he said.

Jamie blushed and walked more enthusiastically all the way over to Jon to sit in his lap. She was tall, but Jon could still see over her shoulders. 

“Are those the consent forms?” she asked, pointing to a small collection of documents on his desk.

“Yes. The new subject should arrive at eleven. Providing they haven’t overdosed,” he chuckled to himself.

Jamie frowned, “Don’t be so cruel.”

“I’m a former addict, I’m allowed to make jokes.”

She pushed air out of her nose to let him know she still wasn’t happy about the remark, but that she was in a good enough mood to let it slide. He wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder. She plucked his glasses from his face. 

“You seem tired, love” she said.

He huffed, “I’m always tired, darlin’, it’s a Crane speciality.”

“Do you think it’ll work this time? The para… parasym…”

“Parasympathetic nervous system inhibitor?”

She blushed. “Yeah. That thing.”

“Well, let me put it this way, if it’s been five hours and the laboratory door is still shut, the answer is it did, in fact, work this time.”

Jamie kissed his cheek and then, when he didn’t turn away in resistance, kissed his lips as well. 

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment and he let out a sigh. She leaned back into his embrace, enjoying the last few moments together before the experiment would begin. 

“What’s the matter?” she asked. 

“Nothin’,” Jon replied. He sensed her disbelief, “I just hope it works.”

“Me too, because then at least you’ll sleep in our bed instead of your lab chair.”

The doorbell chimed throughout the house, signalling the newest participant’s arrival.

He took his glasses back, smiled softly, and held his hand out to Jamie. She took it and swung off of his lap, bouncing on the balls of her feet a little.

“I’ll be upstairs if you need me,” she said, her voice faltering a little.

“I’ll be fine as pumpkin pie, don’t you worry,” Jon chimed - a phrase he never used except to make her laugh, which she did. She brushed some hair that had fallen in front of her face behind her ear and Jon gazed at her with a softness that was so rare it took them both by surprise.

He cleared his throat, “Best get the door before they run away, hey?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” she said and scurried away. Jon followed her and locked the door to his laboratory behind him. 

The man at the door was sweaty, his eyes glazed over a little, and frantic. He was in the midst of withdrawals from the looks of him.

Jamie knew that look intimately. 

“Hello,” she said, “Are you here to participate in Doctor Crane’s research?” 

“Yeah, yeah. I, uh, I saw the flyer thing… at the community centre. Listen, um, how much- how much do I get? For this whole thing, I mean.”

“Three hundred dollars,” Jon replied, entering into the room and the conversation with a kind of slightly disturbing energy that reflected in the man’s face.

“Yeah. Yeah. Can’t even make that kinda money under Penguin.”

“Mm,” Jon hummed and he extended a long, thin finger; beckoning the man across the threshold, “Sit. Please.”

The man looked around, slightly disoriented, before finding his footing and the living room sofa.

“Darlin, can you maybe get us some water?” Jon asked.

“Of course,” Jamie chimed, bouncing off to the kitchen.

“We need to discuss a few things before we start, that’s all.” Jon assured him.

The man nodded, “Nice house…”

“It’s my wife’s. She— her family has been in Gotham a long, long time.”

Jon placed a consent form on the coffee table in front of the man, the pen attached to it almost matched his fingers in width, save for the bony joints which protruded at odd angles.

“During the experiment you will be placed in a room. Blood will be drawn. Then, you will be injected with a microdose of the stress hormone adrenaline. You will be exposed to some stimuli, your reaction documented, and then, a second blood sample will be taken for comparison. After the termination of the test you must not discuss it with anyone else, as this may alter the results of further trials.”

The man screwed his eyebrows together, and nodded, with a vague understanding of what had just been said, “H-how long is this thing supposed to last?”

“Oh,” Jon rapped his fingers along the table, “The hormone will affect you for approximately three minutes.”

The man nodded, itching at the top of his sleeve anxiously, “Alright. Okay, uh… so I just…”

“Just sign,” Jon finished for him.

He did as asked, shaking hands signing over his consent to the experiment and, unknowingly, potentially his life. 

Jamie returned with a glass of water for him, which he took greedily. She reached out and squeezed Jon’s hand, giving the man before her a sympathetic look, “Good luck, sweetie. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“That’s everything,” Jon said as he stood abruptly, leading off into the depths of the house. The test subject scrambled after him. 

“N-not a lot of guys sign up for this, huh?” he tried for some small talk to lighten the mood.

“More than you’d think,” Jon replied. He held open the door to the basement, which was brightly lit - for now. “Sit.”

He swallowed and approached the chair, “This looks like something outta Arkham, man.”

“It is,” Jon said, as he tightened a wrist strap in one quick, efficient tug.

“I-I actually… I dunno if I wanna keep going… I-“

Jon shook his head and hushed him as he might do with a whining dog, “Remember, this experiment is about fear. It is only natural to be afraid. But what you are doing right now is for psychological research. We truly are on the brink of something here.” He placed a hand on his shoulder, “Your name is not recorded and you will walk away with cash that you can spend on anything you like.”

The subject smiled nervously, but seemed more confident, “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Okay. Keep going.”

Jon grinned, but it was not the comforting, sweet grin you would expect on the face of a psychologist. “I’ll be back in a moment to take some blood.”

He knew that it would be more significant to test when the fear hormone level in the blood was at a normal rate instead of the elevated rate he’d already created, but it was far more fun this way. And what mattered wasn’t the starting or ending concentration, it was the difference. He hoped that this trial would prove the effectiveness of the inhibitor - meaning the parasympathetic nervous system would be unable to return the body to its normal homeostasis. If it worked, the effects of his so cleverly named ‘fear toxin’ would be unparalleled and limitless.

He returned to the room carrying a small medical kit. He pried out the needle and collection vials. The subject cringed.

“Don’t like needles?” Jon asked, as he lingered purposefully around the inside of his arm. The small scars there hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“Used to them puttin’ shit in not taking it out,” he explained. 

Jon collected the blood, screwing the cap on tightly to the vial. 

“It makes it easier to find a vein, nonetheless,” he replied as he began to draw out the toxin into a syringe. 

“Does it, uh, sting?”

Jon let out an amused chuckle that made the other very uncomfortable, “Only for a moment.” 

With a swift, experienced hand, he plunged the needle deep into the subject’s vein and injected the toxin. Once the needle was out, he snapped the tourniquet off. A great sense of excitement and thrill burned within him.

“I’ll return shortly,” he said, and exited the room. He did not intend to return any time soon.

Jamie was surprisingly adept at ignoring and, indeed, completely blocking out the screams of terrified individuals. It would only be a few centuries before you became immune to it. The door to the basement remained closed the whole night, but this was not unusual. Jonathan would prefer she not see his experiments. She wondered if, in his own way, he might be scared that she would see something truly dark in him and be unable to see the soft, gentle man he so often was again. She could relate to that. With a wave of her hand, Jamie sealed the magical locks on the house and secured the front door firmly closed. She appreciated the sciences, having watched them develop over the years. But she was, embarrassingly, not as up-to-date with current medical practices as she might like to be - not having to worry about patching yourself up thanks to a tag-along demon had its disadvantages when it came to knowing what humans actually required to survive. She would have made a fine doctor at Arkham Asylum, and had even posed as one to investigate the hellhole beneath it. That’s how her and Jonathan had met; when he was solely practicing out of Arkham. As they grew more fond of each other, she appreciated his move into the academic and research field - it kept him out of the way of the psychopaths in Arkham who didn’t tolerate his direct approach to therapy.

Jamie sighed and slowly took her hair out of its plait. Try as she might, she just couldn’t sleep without Jon beside her. Hours crawled by, but as the clock ticked over to 3am, she gave up on waiting.

She sat up and stretched her arms out with a yawn, unfurling like a blossom in the sun. She brushed her hair back with her fingers and huffed softly. She looked over at the empty space beside her and grumbled. Prying herself from the warmth of the blankets, she ventured, tired feet flopping on the wooden floor, down to Jon’s laboratory. The stairs creaked under her weight and the light of the room made her squint until her tired eyes adjusted. The door was still locked, but it was nothing she couldn’t push through with a simple nudge of her demonic strength.

Jon was slumped over his desk, his lanky body somehow still propped up even in sleep. She hated herself for thinking it, but he did truly look like a scarecrow. Jamie was pleased to find student papers under his hand, a pen having rolled free from his grip. She smiled softly at him. Blood samples and chemical solutions were sitting labelled and ready for testing and she ever so carefully placed them in the fridge. 

“Jon,” she said softly. 

“Hh— mm?” He hummed, opening an eye up to look at her. He uncoiled himself from his seat and gazed sleepily at her. 

“What happened to your test subject?”

“They’re called participants,” he corrected through a yawn, “He stumbled out around two.”

Jamie combed her fingers through his hair, “‘M sorry it didn’t work, love.”

“Hm, I’m getting there. The fear response was much stronger. I think there’s a fingernail lodged in the wood of the door. Unfortunately, he did projectile vomit—“

She grimaced, “You’re cleaning it up. Come to bed.”

“M’kay darlin’,” he murmured. He let her lead him away from his work, following a few paces behind to the bed where he lay. She took his shoes off and undressed him as best as he would let her given his refusal to move even an inch now he had gotten comfortable. She made do with taking his tie, jacket, and belt off before joining him in bed. She smiled softly and slipped her fingers under his shirt to gently rub the raised, scarred skin on his back. They were old and keloid, a testament to his strength, in her opinion. She had some almost the same. 

“G’night, Peachy,” he mumbled into his pillow, pressing his lips to her shoulder.

“Goodnight, my love,” she replied.


End file.
